My knees hurt, my arms are sore, but for the first time in my life, I actually like my job.

It’s weird. I went to college and got a degree in marketing, and yet here I am working as a maid, and I love it.

Probably because I’m cleaning one of the most beautiful places in the whole freaking world. The Castle of Polovia is where the royals live, or at least some of them do. They also house a ton of guests all the time. People are pretty much constantly coming and going from the castle, and it’s our job to make sure everything is sparkling and perfect.

I push my cart down the plush carpet. I’m like a maid in a hotel, except this is the most priceless and gorgeous hotel imaginable. I’m pretty much invisible here, especially since I barely speak the local dialect. I know some German, but Polovian is a little different, so I find it hard to follow sometimes.

I only got this job because a local girl took pity on me. I was robbed up in Austria, and ran out of money after I got off the train in Polovia, and I was pretty screwed. But I luckily met Britta, and she managed to get me a job at the castle. Her family has been working here for ages apparently. It’s basically the luckiest thing I’ve ever had happen.

Soon, I’ll be able to afford a flight back home. I could probably reach out to my parents and ask for help, but I want to do this on my own. Besides, I’m not exactly on the best terms with them. My father didn’t approve of my trip overseas, and my mother basically does whatever he tells her to do. I don’t want to go running back to them with my tail between my legs and have to deal with their judgmental comments. I won’t give in to that shit anymore.

So here I am, a maid in a beautiful castle. I push my cart and pause outside of an open room. Inside, two girls I work with, Marta and Brunhild, are talking to each other in Polovian.

I can only catch some of it, but there’s one phrase they mention a few times.

“Who’s the prince?” I ask them.

The two women stop and stare at me. Brunhild is a tall, stout woman with dark blonde hair. She steps toward me with a frown on her face.

“The Prince of Polovia, of course,” she says in accented English. “You know of this, yes?”

“I didn’t know there was a prince,” I admit to them.

The two women give each other a look.

“How did you not know this? He is very famous here,” Marta says. She’s stocky and short, maybe in her forties.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing what else to say.

“He is very, how do you say, handsome,” Brunhild says.

Marta giggles like a schoolgirl. “Very handsome,” she says. “Every woman wants him, you know.”

I stare at these women, pretty surprised. Normally they’re very sullen and serious about their work. I can’t believe they’re acting like giggly school girls right now.

“He must be something,” I manage to say.

“Yes, very something,” Brunhild says. “You be careful of him.”

“Careful?” I ask her.

Marta gives me a wicked smile. “You’re young. Pretty. Be careful.”

I don’t know what they mean but they don’t bother explaining. They turn away and go back to chatting in Polovian, ignoring me completely.

I sigh and turn away. I’m used to being treated like an outsider at this point. Everyone here thinks they’re better than me just because I’m from America, but that’s okay. I’m not here to make a new best friend.

But their words keep lingering with me as I go about cleaning. I work my way through the guest wing and into the royal section. These rooms are enormous and ornate and always empty. I don’t know where the King and Queen stay, but it isn’t in the royal wing.

I’m not sure why I should be careful around the Prince. If he’s a royal, I can only imagine that he’s stuffy and very serious. Every other royal I’ve see around here has been very cordial and professional, and maybe even a little cold. They take the royal family very seriously in this country, and they still have a large amount of political power.

I assume this Prince is the same. He’s probably an old, stodgy man just waiting for his short tenure as the king. Maybe he has a temper or something, and likes to take it out on the young maids. Maybe they want me to steer clear of him because he might fly off the handle at any moment and chew me out for some minor infraction.

But they did call him handsome, although their definition of handsome is very different from my own. The celebrities in Polovia are all good looking in their own way, but they’re not at all my type. Stout, hairy men seem to be the norm here, which really doesn’t do anything for me. Maybe this prince is a stout, hairy, stodgy, boring old man, and those women just think he’s handsome.

I’m so lost in thought, speculating on this mysterious prince, that I don’t remember to knock on the door before I enter into the next room. We’re meant to knock before entering everywhere, but I’ve gotten a little lazy lately. These rooms are always empty, and I’ve never had an issue before.

So I just barge right in, not thinking about it. I head through the sitting room and living quarters before walking right into the bedroom, intending to start in the bathroom that’s attached to the bedroom before working my way outwards.

Except what I see in that bedroom makes me realize how stupid it can be to make assumptions.

I push open the door and stop dead in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the room, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

He must be in his early thirties. His skin is tan and his body is lean but muscular. He has deep blue eyes and perfect, straight teeth. My eyes roam down his cut chest, his ripped abs, and I can’t help but notice the substantial bulge between his legs. My eyes quickly flick up away from that, and I can feel red creeping into my cheeks.

He smirks as soon as he notices me, and doesn’t seem upset at all that I just walked in on him getting changed. He stands up and looks at me, cocking his head to one side. It’s almost like he’s challenging me to stare at his package some more.

He says something in Polovian, but it’s too fast to follow.

“Sorry,” I say in German. “My Polovian is very bad.”

He frowns for a second. “English?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, grateful.

“Can I ask you something?” His English is very good, with only a slight hint of a British accent. He must have learned it from someone in the UK.

“Uh, okay,” I say.

“Are you going to just stand there and stare at me, or are you going to let me finish getting changed?”

I must turn absolutely scarlet, because he bursts out laughing.

“I’m so sorry!” I say, and I quickly get the hell out of there.

I slam the door behind me, feeling like a freaking idiot. I can’t believe I just did that. I was staring at him like a starving dog, and I just totally embarrassed myself.

But who the hell is that? I didn’t know anybody was going to be staying in this room. I thought this whole wing was just an abandoned ghost town. I’m so, so stupid for not following protocol. I should have knocked before entering, and knocked again on the bedroom door. I should have realized that something wasn’t right as soon as I saw that the door was shut.

I’m so embarrassed. I want to jump off a freaking cliff. I hurry toward the door, intending to run the heck out of there, but the man appears from the bedroom. He’s wearing a pair of dark jogging sweats, tapered to show off his muscular legs, but still doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Hold up,” he says. “Wait a second.”

I stop, inwardly cringing and kicking myself for not running faster.

“What’s your name?” The man steps toward me, a little smile on his face.

“Hazel,” I say. “And uh, you’re still not wearing a shirt.”

“Hazel,” he says. “Pretty name. You’re American.”

“Yes,” I say. He clearly doesn’t mind that I’m staring at his bare chest, and for good reason. The man is absolutely gorgeous.

“Interesting,” he says. “Not many Americans work here. How’d you get the job?”

“Uh, Britta Vanderclamp,” I say. “She helped me.”

“Ah,” he says, smiling. “Vanderclamp. I know that name.”

“She says her family has been working here for a long time.”

“Yes, well, that’s not uncommon in a place like this. Relationships matter for more than they should here.” He cocks his head again and smiles, and I can’t help but notice that gesture. It must be something he does unconsciously.

“I’m so sorry for barging in on you,” I say. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

I hesitate, not sure what to say. “No,” I admit. I hope he’s not some noble lord that gets insulted or something, but I don’t want to lie to him.

He just laughs and waves. “Go ahead, get back to work, Hazel.” He grins at me.

I don’t like the way he so casually dismisses me. “Yes, my lord,” I say, as sarcastic as possible. I expect him to get annoyed, but he just grins some more.

“Knock next time,” he calls out as I head out of the room.

I catch a glimpse of him watching me as the door slowly shuts. Once in the hall, I hurry around the corner before leaning up against the wall to catch my breath.

That man was gorgeous, so freaking gorgeous, and the way he looked at me drove me crazy. He looked at me like he was starving or something like that, but like he’s also in total control of the situation. He looks like a man that’s used to getting what he wants. Even when I tried to rattle him a little bit, which of course is a very stupid thing to do here, he didn’t take the bait. It only seemed to make him smile more.

I don’t know what I’m doing, playing games with the nobility here. I don’t even speak the language. I shouldn’t be pressing my luck. I need to keep my head down and do my work until I have enough money to get home.

Even as I move on and get back to work, the image of that incredibly handsome man lingers in my mind. I can’t stop thinking about him all day long.